


Motivational

by Ast



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Mild S&M, Office Sex, Older Man/Younger Woman, Teacher-Student Relationship, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:42:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29590890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ast/pseuds/Ast
Summary: Seychelles negotiates her biology grades with the principal.
Relationships: England/Seychelles (Hetalia)
Kudos: 11





	Motivational

**Author's Note:**

> Colonialism + Big Brother France gave us her last name.

It would have been so much easier if Mr. Kirkland hadn't been so  _handsome_ .  
  
Or, rather. 'Handsome' was not the word her friends used about him; for that, there was too much of the bookish clerk about him. Narrow shoulders, skinny body, practical - boring - haircut, and a sense of dress that didn't do much to honor his position as the dangerously young principal of Hetalia Academy, who had advanced to the position seemingly without any much experience of academia from the inside. Mr. Kirkland was a man who puzzled all, and was questioned by none; and if he was somewhat lacking in the youthful fitness and spirit that some might have expected out of a principal barely turned thirty, that was not to say that he was any less respected. Arthur Kirkland ruled Hetalia Academy like the kings of old, and none of his subjects had reason to revolt.  
  
And some of them loved him, or perhaps the image of the man that he might be behind the walls of whatever home he had, in slippers and pajamas and sipping tea as he read the morning paper with those dangerous green eyes that did not belong on a person as  _boring_ as Mr. Kirkland.  
  
She had met them, once, when they walked past each other in the hall, and it was silly, and delusional, probably, but she thought she had seen something in them that spoke of something else than the sarcastic lilt of the principal's speech and his beige slacks. It was probably the exact kind of dumb that girls her age were wont to: hours in her bed, with or without a hand pressed between her legs, had given her a plentiful fiction of Arthur Kirkland's life when he wasn't the principal.  
  
_That_ was why it was more uncomfortable than it should be for her to be in his office as he sighed a little, put down the sheet, and pushed it towards her.  
  
"As you can see, Miss Bonnefoy, Mr. Beilschmidt fears he cannot give you a passing grade in biology. He tells me that he regrets this, as your overall performance is, as he put it, 'awesome'. He would have had this conversation with you himself, but he is - as you perhaps know - ill at home. It fell on me to ask you this, Miss Bonnefoy: is there a reason you have not devoted any much effort to this particular subject?"  
  
Seychelles shifted in her chair, and couldn't bring herself to look at the headmaster as she muttered, "It's boring."  
  
She heard him sigh from the other side of the desk. "There are many things in life that are 'boring', Miss Bonnefoy, but which we still have to suffer. If that is the best effort you can make, then I am afraid there is no option for me but fail this class."  
  
"No!" he startled at her utterance, and she blushed as she sat back down, "I mean, if there is anything I  _can_ do to pass it, sir, please tell me."  
  
There was a slightly exasperated exhalation from the headmaster, who leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, frowning. "For your own sake, Miss Bonnefoy, I might be inclined to say that it isn't so; there is a standard, after all, for passing; we would not do you any favors by letting you trudge your way to a passing grade like this. Ideally, I would like to see enthusiasm about the subject."  
  
"I can be enthusiastic," she said, and leaned forward. As she shifted her her feet, one of her connected to Mr. Kirkland's, and she felt him shuffle his slightly away. It came crashing down on her, then: her silly crush on the headmaster, her failing grades, and her  _enthusiasm for biology_ . Using her hands to proper her upper body up as she leaned further forward, she moved her foot against the headmaster's calve, hooked it behind it and insistently pressed her leg against his. "I can be enthusiastic. Sir," she repeated lowly, and swallowed as he stared at her with wide eyes, but didn't move to pull his foot back. She rubbed her foot up and down in slight motions, and his lids lowered into a thoughtful expression as he finally moved his foot to let it trail up against her leg, nudging just against the skirt that ended at her knees.  
  
"Truly," he said quietly, rubbing his sock-clad ankle against her shin in languid strokes, "you tell me that you can be enthusiastic. But I hope you realize, Miss Bonnefoy, that enthusiasm alone will not be enough to make a satisfactory effort."  
  
"Oh?" the toe of his shoe was hooked behind her ankle, lifted her foot to let it rest on his leg as she felt a sock-clad foot nose its way up her leg, tickling the inside of her knee before it continued upwards against her thigh. Mr. Kirkland was resting his face on crossed hands, elbows propped up on his desk, looking nothing like he was probably breaking at least five different school rules and some professional ethics on top of it. "Enthusiasm must necessarily be accompanied by rapt attention," and she twitched as his toes pressed against where her thighs met, demanding access that she granted by shifting in her seat, eyes never leaving his face, "tell me, Miss Bonnefoy, are you easily distracted?"  
  
"I think," she paused, uncertain of what kind of answer he expected from her as his foot came to rest between her thighs, not reaching the entire way up to her panties but rendering her acutely aware of how she never had been this close to a man, and leaving absolutely no doubts about his intentions for touching her like this. She realized, as she struggled with finding something to say, that she was breathing quicker than normal; her fingers were trembling on their hold of her seat.  
  
"I think, Miss Bonnefoy, that your inability to give me a simple 'yes' or 'no' might be evidence enough thereof."  
  
"Yes," she agreed, meeting those captivating eyes as she pressed her legs together and trapped his foot between her thighs, "I think you are right, sir."  
  
"And what should we do about that, you think?"  
  
"I don't know, sir," she answered, and moved a bit forward in her seat.  
  
He closed his eyes, sighed, and pulled his foot back with slow intention; it trailed down her leg and rested against hers before it disappeared back beneath his desk. Seychelles shifted in her seat, body tingling still tingling at the foreign touch seeking her most private. "Miss Bonnefoy," he said, face betraying nothing even as she detected a fain quiver in the way he pronounced her name, "I think our problem requires a more  _physical_ examination. Would you be so kind as to come over here?"  
  
He pushed his chair back as she rose and slowly made her way over to the other side of the desk, him still seated in front of her with his legs properly crossed, the polished wooden surface behind her.  
  
"Do sit down," he said, and she did as she was told, raising to her toes so that she could push herself back to sit on the mostly empty desk. Mr. Kirkland reached out a hand to rest it on her knee, but his smile was warm as she met her eyes. "This is a perfectly normal procedure," he assured her, and she smiled back at him as he shuffled his chair closer. "Now, please take off your shirt."  
  
She was almost surprised by how steadily she managed to push the straps of her dress of her shoulders, loosen her tie for then to pull it away to let it drop beside her on the desk, and started unbuttoning her shirt. She was acutely aware of how the thin material was keeping some part of her hidden, something perhaps indecent that was meant for boys her age, perhaps, not for men twice as hold as her - whose eyes were set to her fingers working, the buttons parting the fabric to reveal a narrow glimpse of skin. It was suddenly opened wider when she pulled the rest of the fabric up from the waistline of the dress; she undid the final two buttons and shrugged the shirt off her shoulders, finally sitting up straight to look at Mr. Kirkland again.  
  
Mr. Kirkland scrutinized her with a look as unaffected as though he was a professional physician. After a minute, he sat up in his chair and reached up towards her. He stretched his hands beneath her arms, only touching her when his fingers gripped her bra, and unhooked it. He reached up to her shoulders, then, and carefully pulled the straps down until she was bared completely, and he was holding the last garment hiding her in one hand.  
  
"There," he said with a small smile, letting the bra drop onto the shirt on the floor. "Now, Miss Bonnefoy, I'm sure you have learned that discipline - self-discipline - is a crucial ability for a student who wants academical success."  
  
She nodded, and didn't say a word as a warm hand came up to cup her left breast, lifting it up and relieving some of the weight she had felt from it when the support from the bra was removed. He seemed to weight it in his hand, squeezing it lightly before he dropped it. But instead of saying anything, he licked his thumb and raised it to press it directly against her nipple, rubbing a couple of small circles before pulling it back with a small strand of saliva following until it snapped. Seychelles watched in fascination as the nipple rose and puckered, sensitized by the wetness of the principal's spit and the contact with the cool air of his office.  
  
Mr. Kirkland, in turn, lifted his hand anew to press his index finger against the nipple, rubbing minuscule circles on top of it, pressing it back and forth, and each movement of his finger seemed to connect directly between her legs, making her pulse with arousal and her chest heave. When he finally clamped down with the middle finger and thumb, she let out a shuddering moan to let him take part in what she was feeling. He paused his ministrations, and looked up into her flushed face with an almost curious expression.  
  
"Why, Miss Bonnefoy," he said, "you were doing so well until now."  
  
"What?" she asked, and he looked almost regretful even as he kept on steadily pinching her nipple, sending burst after burst of pleasure through her body.  
  
"Rapt attention, Miss Bonnefoy, and the courtesy not to interrupt the teacher. But I will give you another chance to prove your dedication," and before she had the chance to thank him, he had leaned forward to fasten his mouth to her breast.  
  
She only barely managed to strangle the groan and keep it to a harsh exhalation at the sudden feeling of warm and wet against her sensitive skin, pliant tongue and smooth teeth all around it, and Mr. Kirkland's head pressed close to her chest, his hair brushing against her skin as he pulled back to only let his lips play with her nipple. He licked it, kissed it, sucked it into his mouth and caressed it with his tongue, and it was all Seychelles could do not to collapse into a begging, whimpering mess of a girl. She could feel that she was wet between her legs, too, when she wriggled a little in her seat to free one hand, raising it to press it to the nape of the principal's neck to keep him there, oh, and he answered by biting down.  
  
She managed to keep the scream silent, only squeezing her eyes shut as her mouth was wretched open in pleasure.  
  
That was, at least, until she felt a hand beneath her skirt. It rested on her thigh for a minute as he sucked steadily on her breast, but then started brushing up higher, stroking and petting her thigh and getting steadily closer to the fabric of her panties. She jerked when his fingers finally connected to the soft flesh hidden beneath cotton.  
  
He didn't let up, but let his fingers push against her, brushing up and down over the indention that her lips made in the fabric until he finally focused the pressure on  _that_ place, pushing firmly and letting up, again and again over the most tender place of her until she no longer could think coherently, lost in the pleasure that his stimulation was bringing over her.  
  
"Miss Bonnefoy."  
  
It took her a few seconds to realize that Mr. Kirkland no longer was touching her; she was surprised to find that she was out of breath, her veins pounding with arousal and her fingers clutching the edge of his desk as though it was the only thing keeping her grounded.  
  
"You were being vocal again, Miss Bonnefoy."  
  
Somehow, the only answer she could muster to that was a whispered, out-of-breath, "Oh."  
  
"We wouldn't tolerate that kind of interruption in class," he said with a disappointed sigh as he sat back in his chair, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "There's no choice, I suppose, but resorting to the rather date ways of keeping the students in line."  
  
"What do you mean?" she asked, and Mr. Kirkland straightened a little in his seat, looked at her with those dangerous eyes, and spoke in a voice that was surprisingly calm.  
  
"Pull your knickers down to your knees and bend over my lap, please."  
  
Seychelles was not breathing quite steadily as she pushed herself from the desk, lifted her hands up under her skirt, and pushed the elastic of her panties down to rest beneath her buttocks before she took the step that separated her from the principal. She couldn't bring herself to look at him as she lowered her body down over legs, gripping the chair with uncertainty how she was supposed to bend until she felt his hands on the small of her back as he pushed her down to rest her weight fully over his lap. He didn't say a word as he leaned over her to open a drawer and pull something out before carefully closing it again. He was still for a moment, but then he leaned forward to brush one of her pigtails over her shoulder and whisper to her, "there are other ways for you to save your grades. You need only say so."  
  
His fingers stroked her bare shoulder, and Seychelles didn't fully comprehend what he had just told her before she answered, "I like this way. Please, sir."  
  
There was a beat, and Mr. Kirkland pulled back with a quiet "Very well." Seychelles kept her eyes shut her skirt was lifted out of the way for his hand to stroke her behind with slow, intentional movements, caressing with a tenderness that made her entire body melt against his; she let her head fall and barely swallowed a sigh as he gave her one final stroke, and moved his hand away.  
  
The only warning she got was the rush of air against tensile wood that connected to her cheeks with a smack that rung in the room.  
  
She couldn't keep the gasp contained at the sting, and the feeling of the wooden ruler pressed firmly against her skin as Mr. Kirkland's other arm rested across her shoulder to keep her in place.  
  
"Corporal punishment is not a discipline we resort to easily, Miss Bonnefoy. Are you quite sure you are aware of the consequences of your misbehavior?"  
  
"I am," she replied quietly, biting her lip as she felt him shift and heard the ruler descend a second time, striking a little lower now.  
  
"I am thinking that ten strikes should suffice," he said, and she focused on breathing rather than answering, only nodding in reply as he struck her a third and a fourth time in rapid succession.  
  
"Five," he said calmly, and then his hands were back on her skin, caressing the sensitized nerves of her buttocks as the other hand wormed its way around her from the other side to cup a breast and massage it firmly, taking care to let the nipple be stroked against his palm with every movement. The hand on her behind was moving lower, slipping down to push her panties out of the way and caress the insides of her thighs.  
  
"You're doing well," he told her, giving her a final, firm stroke before he shifted back, and delivered the sixth strike without showing any mercy.  
  
Seychelles did not know how she managed to keep it to gasps between her panting, as she felt her body jump every time the wood made contact with her flesh, as she forgot everything except for Mr. Kirkland's body against hers, his arm resting across her naked back and his thighs holding her up, and then his empty hand was on her abused backside. It felt almost cool, and soothing in the silence that had descended over the room after he had let the ruler drop to the floor. The only sound left was of her breathing, slowing now as he leaned over and kissed her shoulders, made his way up to her neck as she felt his hand softly nudging high between her thighs. She parted her legs, sighing lazily as she relaxed as much as she could while keeping her balance.  
  
His fingers were soon moving with slick ease, caressing softly without moving too far up, without getting too close to  _that_ place, without trying to work her further up.  
  
"Miss Bonnefoy," he muttered after a few minutes, "did you have classes in sexual education in your previous school?"  
  
"Yes," she answered, eyes closed and breathing now even, "a little. It was mostly about puberty."  
  
He hummed tonelessly in reply, and then his finger shifted angle and slipped differently and oh, she realized, they were  _inside_ of her as his hand came to a still, resting against her sex as she felt the fingers inside of her crook and push. Her eyes shot open, but she couldn't see him without turning in her current position.  
  
"And intercourse?"  
  
"Only that we decide for ourselves when and with who we are to do it."  
  
"Sexual safety?"  
  
"We learned about the pill," his fingers were sliding in and out of her in languid movements, going almost all the way out before he pressed back in until his hand was pushing against her lips, "and condoms."  
  
"I see," he answered, letting his hand continue to work in steady, firm movements for a little while longer. A couple of minutes of heavy breathing and small, wet sounds passed before his hand pulled away completely and shifted in his seat. "Please stand," he asked, and Seychelles did, her knees shaking minutely as she climbed to her feet and turned to face him, resting her hips against his desk. Mr. Kirkland got out of his chair and walked over where his coat was hanging. He pulled a wallet out of a pocket, and flipped it open to remove something from it.  
  
He handed her the condom with the serious expression of any teacher in class. "Would you care to demonstrate how to properly put it on?"  
  
"Certainly," she whispered after a beat, and couldn't take her eyes of his hands as they moved down to unbuckle his belt, pulled down a zipper that was pushed taut by something straining inside, shoved the fabric of his underwear away and pulled his cock out.  
  
It was  _different_ , she thought, in real life than how it sounded described from elegant passages on paper or showed in anatomical illustrations. It stood out from his body, proudly bent upwards and tinted a deep pink color; the thin skin of the head was nearly purple, and she was reaching out to touch before she could help herself, letting just the tip of her forefinger brush where the slit came to an end. She felt oddly excited at the action, wondered idly how touching the organ could have such an effect on her the finger continued stroking the head, dipping into the wetness at the top, then down to circle beneath it.  
  
She felt Mr. Kirkland breathing faster, too, even as he didn't make a sound. She took the shaft in her hand, felt it hot and hard and wondered what it would feel like where his fingers had been. She tightened her fingers, moved her hand up a little, down a little, felt it fill her closed palm. She only remembered the condom as she reached out with her other hand as well and almost dropped it to the floor.  
  
She glanced up at Mr. Kirkland as she pulled back, and he startled as their eyes met. His face was red, he was breathing heavily, and there was something so open and vulnerable in his eyes that she realized, in a flash of a minute, that this was as daring and dangerous for him as it was for her.  
  
More so for him, she suddenly understood, whose job and reputation was hanging on this and not just a virginity she never had cared much for keeping. It was as if the room had changed around them: the spell was broken, and now he was a somewhat handsome principal standing in front of an undressed pupil with his fly open, the only thing keeping them from the rest of the world being the sturdy door of his office. It was ridiculous and it was probably illegal and Mr. Kirkland was so  _proper_ and certainly not, she had always thought, the kind of man to be breaking rules with a grin and a wave of a hand.  
  
Stronger than ever, in boring math classes or moments alone in her bed, did she wish that she could kiss him, that she could take his hand and tell him that it was alright, that she would be there with him. She didn't even know if he  _wanted_ her there with him, she realized; and she couldn't even smile, not after all this, not with how she could see him hesitating to speak.  
  
She wasn't sure how long had passed - if it had been seconds, or minutes, as she took a step closer to him and leaned her head against his shoulder, closed her eyes and told him.  
  
"I've been wanting to know you for such a long time, Mr. Kirkland."  
  
A second passed, then two, then five, and then she felt his hands come up to stroke her hair, and he muttered against her cheek. "You are such a radiant young woman, Miss Bonnefoy." That was the only thing he said, and she could feel his breathing against her lips as he lingered close to her, before he moved up and pressed his lips to her cheek.  
  
_Woman_ , she thought, and savored the feeling of his arms around her for a minute longer before she stepped back and ripped the packet of the condom open without being able to look into his eyes again. his hands obligingly lifted the tails of his shirt out of the way as she laid the flat latex over his cock and pushed the slippery material down with the tips of her fingers.  
  
"Very good," he muttered in approval as she finished, and placed his hands on her waist, "very good indeed. Now, if you please, turn around."  
  
She did, facing the desk as he came up behind her and took her shoulders, rubbing his hands firmly as he pushed her down. "I recommend you use the table to support yourself," he said calmly, and then kissed her neck as his hands lifted her skirt and pushed for her to step wider out. Seychelles was panting in anticipation as he rubbed her hips, his hands working steadily inwards until one of them disappeared upwards and stroked her there, working in her wetness for a minute before it pulled back and was replaced by something slighter, longer, and impatient pushing up against her.  
  
She almost stopped breathing as he thrust inside of her in a long, patient stroke, filled her to the core as he came to a rest, and that was all it took.  
  
"Oh," he sighed, and her arousal and excitement toppled over and she clenched her eyes, whimpering as her body was shaken by an orgasm more intense than any fantasy had ever managed to rise. She only realized that he was stroking her breasts as she started coming down, squeezing and caressing as her chest heaved.  
  
"Really, Miss Bonnefoy, so quickly?" he said as his hands moved down to her waist, and then up beneath it to cup her hips. The comment was laced with amusement, but nothing else was said as he drew a breath, gripped firmer, and pulled back out of her in a slow stroke.  
  
It wasn't like in movies. It wasn't slow and dark and gentle, but firm and certain, vocalized only through his occasional grunts as he moved with confident, deliberate grinds against her, letting her feel him fill her up and drag the friction out. It was hardly something worth of screaming over, but it was erotic in a way she never had considered before, raw and inelegant, but not in any way  _brutal_ . He moved his hands after a while, supported himself against the desk as his thrusts became quicker and his grunts slowly became steady, quiet moans.  
  
Seychelles was almost surprised to find her arousal wakening again, the need for release building. She closed her eyes and savored the feeling of being fucked like this, remembering how his arms had felt around her and the words he had whispered just minutes ago. She was breathing faster again, driven along by how Mr. Kirkland's moans were slowly taking on a needier pitch and his thrusts were coming on faster than before, driving into her with more force. The desk was rattling beneath her with every movement of his hips against hers, every primal groan making its way past his lips, and Seychelles felt herself answering softly, a quiet litany of pleasured  _oh_ s floating into the room.  
  
She wasn't sure how long time had passed when Mr. Kirkland stopped his movements while he was buried to the hilt in her, his breathing coming out in barely vocalized pants for some seconds until she felt a sudden twitch inside of her.  
  
"Oh God," he groaned, "oh, good God, Miss Bonneyfoy."  
  
After a few seconds, his hands were touching her again, stroking her sides and stomach as he gave her a lingering kiss at the back of her neck. "Stand up," he instructed her as his hands moved down to hold her hips, "careful."  
  
"Okay," she whispered in reply, shifting her footing as she pushed her torso up by her arms. She became acutely aware of how he was still inside of her as the angle shifted, but he didn't say a word to it, only kept his hold on her hips as he instructed her to move along with him, keeping them connected until he had maneuvered them into his chair, she in his lap with her knees outside of his and his cock still inside of her.  
  
He leaned back and pulled her along. She felt a sigh from him as his hands started wandering, kneading her breasts and stroking her thighs, playing with her nipples and tugging at her pubes. She shifted in his lap as he started pulling away, and was answered by two fingers that made their way between her folds and found that place that was aching with desire.  
  
"Yes," she whispered as they circled the place where his cock was nestled, and Mr. Kirkland's left hand dipped down to stroke, working her for a few seconds before he surrendered it again and moved up to lubricate her right nipple with her own juices, squeezing and stroking it with slippery fingers. The middle finger of his right hand circled in on her clitoris, rubbing it just  _so_ that Seychelles felt her toes curl as she thrust her hips down and her chest up, not caring if she was  _vocal_ as her keens grew in pitch as his steady movements brought her close and closer to orgasm. She felt her inner muscles tighten around him in some ancient instinct, felt her breathing coming in harsh thrusts of air until the sparks of pleasure peaked, and  _oh_ .  
  
Mr. Kirkland was holding her hands as she came down, and she realized that they were shaking in his gentle grip. Seychelles relaxed against him and closed her eyes. No words were said for the next few minutes, not even as Mr. Kirkland shifted them a little to pull his softening member out of her and throw away the condom. He went back to her body after that, caressing her languidly, staying away from the most sensitive parts.  
  
"I didn't think it would be so good," she murmured after a while.  
  
"Well, it depends on the skills and efforts of the participants," he answered quietly, "and you were a most attentive student, Miss Bonnefoy."  
  
"Mmm," she answered and stretched a little, "but you were a good teacher, I think. Certainly better than Mr. Beilschmidt would have been."  
  
His hands stilled for a moment, and his next words were stiff. "If I might give you a word of advice, Miss Bonnefoy, it would be to not pursue this kind of tutoring with Mr. Beilschmidt. I might respect the man for his competence in his field of expertise, but he is not  _gentleman_ . Certainly not about issues concerning the - the gentler sex."  
  
"Why would I do this with Mr. Beilschmidt?" she exclaimed, sitting up and turning to look at Mr. Kirkland over her shoulder, "the man is a hooligan, and even if he weren't, I never cared for him like I do for you!"  
  
He looked startled at her angry response, but she forgot about it as she looked at him like this, sweaty and ruffled with his necktie pulled down, his shirt wrinkled with the two top buttons open, his hair tousled and his face no longer hidden behind the mask of the headmaster.  
  
"I'm sorry," he answered, "I just thought that - and with your brother - not that I mean to imply that you are not a respectable - " he stopped speaking and covered his eyes with a hand as he groaned, "forget it," he finally said, "please, Miss Bonnefoy. I'll trust your judgment in men even if it isn't in my place to do so."  
  
Seychelles turned so that she was straddling his lap while facing him, and pulled his hand away. She didn't let go of it, though, and felt it turn to wrap around hers.  
  
"Mr. Kirkland, may I kiss you?"  
  
He nodded, and she did.


End file.
